


Doll's Tears

by sweetiepie08



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Creepy Doll, Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 02:05:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15595830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiepie08/pseuds/sweetiepie08
Summary: Ernesto receives a doll as a thank you for performing at a charity event.There’s something unsettling about it. It reminds him of another little girl with braids who he hadn’t thought of for years, but the memory of her will refuses to be repressed. It’ll come to the surface, if only in his dreams.





	Doll's Tears

It was a little strange, giving a grown man a doll. He had no interest in dolls as a child, let alone now. Everyone who performed at the benefit concert got one, though. It was more of a gimmick than anything. The charity was for orphans, after all. Plus, it was a nice photo op.

Even more ridiculous than a grown man owning a doll, however, was a grown man being unsettled by the doll. He couldn’t quite figure out why. The doll resembled a little girl. Its hair was styled in twin braids tied with ribbons and wore a ruffled little dress. It was, by objective standards, cute. But there was just something about it.

He sat it next to himself in the back seat of the car as he rode home. Out of boredom, he picked it up and inspected it. While turning it over in his hands, he found a little pull string in the back. Ah, it was one of those new ones that talked. Out of curiosity, he pulled the sting. “Mama,” it said in a gravelly, high pitched voice. Pretty basic. He pulled again. “Papa,” it said this time. It sent a sharp pain through his chest and a memory of another little girl in braids flashed through his mind.

He shook his head and set the doll aside. He tried to ignore it, but he could somehow feel the doll’s eyes staring at him. He glanced at it. The glass eyes stared back. Despite its painted smile, it looked accusatory somehow. He turned the doll’s head so that it looked away from him, then mentally chastised himself for feeling so unnerved. It was a doll, and object. It couldn’t know anything.

As soon as he walked in the door, he asked his housekeeper to put it in one of the guest rooms. It was the best place for it. Getting rid of it wasn’t an option. He’d been photographed with it and his publicist widely spread the news that he performed at this benefit. All it would take would be for one person to notice he didn’t have it for the rumors of him “not caring about the little people” to start up again. The doll didn’t belong displayed with his awards or film memorabilia. It didn’t carry the same glamour and he really didn’t want to have to look at it every day. In the guest room, it would be out of site, but still displayed enough to be respectful.

The housekeeper took it away, cooing about how precious it was. Once it was out of his hands, he put it out of his thoughts, something which he’d become very good at. He went on the rest of his day without thinking about the doll once.

[-]

Ernesto had always been a light sleeper, and he became even more so since the _incident._ The slightest sound was enough to wake him. To him, the high pitched squeak across the room might as well have been canon fire.

His eyes shot open and tried to place the sound in his mind. It squeaked again. This time he recognized it as more of a word. The third time, he realized what it’d been saying.

“Mama,” the sound came again.

Ernesto rolled over to see the doll propped up on his dresser. The housekeeper must have misheard and thought he asked her to put it in his room. Odd how he didn’t notice it before bed. In any case, he could wait until morning to correct the mistake. He closed his eyes and waited to drift off again.

“Papa,” it said this time.

Damn thing must be broken. He thought about just chucking it down the hall, but he didn’t want to wake the maids. He knew how they liked to gossip. He actually didn’t mind it, since he was usually able to spin it to fit his narrative, but “de la Cruz callously chucks charity gift” wasn’t a headline he wanted to see.

He closed his eyes again, hoping he wouldn’t hear another peep out of the doll. He didn’t get his wish.

“Papa,” it said again.

Ugh, fine. He guessed he didn’t have to throw it down the hall. He could just put it outside and ask one of the maids to put it somewhere else in the morning. He moved to get up and the doll spoke again.

“Where is papa?”

Ernesto froze, still holding his blanket. What did that thing just say?

“Papa, where are you?”

That-that thing, that doll… it didn’t say that before, did it?

Crying came from that corner of the room. His eyes slid over to the doll. It still wore a painted on smile and its glassy eyes were dry, but the crying still came from the doll. He was certain of that.

“Where is my papa? I want my papa.”

A tall, lanky shadow rose on the wall behind the doll. Ernesto recognized the pointed nose and shaggy, mop of hair. It stretched all the way up to the ceiling. It reached out.

[-]

Ernesto woke with a start. His eyes immediately went to the dresser. No doll. No shadow. Only a dream.

He laid back down and used his breathing to slow his heartbeat. It was just a dream. Different from his usual nightmares, but still just a dream. And yet, the thought of the doll lurking somewhere in his house unsettled him.

No, that’s ridiculous. Dolls can’t lurk. They’re just objects, toys for children. He was a grown man. Giving so much thought to a doll was just ludicrous. Even if he didn’t like the thing, there was no need to jump up and do anything about it now.

Shoving the doll out of his mind, he rolled over and closed his eyes. He willed himself to go back to sleep, but he imagined he wouldn’t get much rest this night. It was fine. Nothing he hadn’t grown used to.

[-]

The next day, despite his best efforts to forget his dream, he found himself wandering the halls, looking for the doll. He tried his best to look nonchalant and wondered what was sillier: sneaking around your own home or checking up on a doll?

He found it in a guest room. It was just where he asked the maid to put it. It stood on a dresser, looking straight ahead. It did move or speak. Ad why should it? It was a doll.

He slipped in and quietly closed the door behind him. He crept of over to the doll and picked it up, unsure why he was being so reverent to a piece of porcelain. He pulled the string on the back.

“Mama,” it squeaked.

So far, so good. He pulled it again.

“Papa.”

It still sent a shiver through him, but he let it pass. It was fine. The doll was supposed to say that. Now came the real test. He pulled a third time.

“Mama.”

He let out a sigh of relief, then immediately chastised himself. This was absurd. What exactly did he expect? It was a doll. He had a dream. There was nothing out of the ordinary going on. He was Ernesto de la Cruz. What did he have to fear from a doll?

[-]

“Papa.”

Ernesto’s eyes shot open. He rolled over in his bed to see the doll staring at him from the dresser. No, not again. Not another stupid doll dream.

It started crying again. “Where’s my Papa?”

Ernesto rolled away from the doll and shoved a pillow over his ears. It was just a doll and this was just a dream. It couldn’t do anything. If he just ignored it, it would go away.

“Where is my papa?” it asked again through sobs. “Tio Nesto, do you know?”

His eyes widened. What did that thing just call him?

“Tio Nesto, we need to find him,” it chirped.

Did it sound closer? He sat up and turned to the dresser. It wasn’t there. Where did it-? He looked over the side of the bed and spotted it, standing in the middle of the floor.

“We need to find him,” the doll said again, tears running down its cheeks. “He’s all alone, and very cold.” Its cries grew louder and a shadow stretched out from behind it.

[-]

Ernesto woke again. Another dream. Another stupid dream. Every night since the _incident_ , he’d been plagued with nightmares, but not usually of something as innocuous as a doll. He was a grown man, for Christ’s sake. How long would this go on?

Careful not to make a noise, he got out of bed and slipped out of his room. It was ridiculous, really. The whole thing was ridiculous. Here he was, a grown man, an icon, an international superstar, going to check if a child’s plaything was really haunted.

He crept his way down to the guest room. The last thing he wanted was to wake his maid or housekeeper to see him. He didn’t need Ernesto de la Cruz, star of stage and screen, was having nightmares about a doll.

He found the guest room and slipped inside. The streetlamps outside provided just enough light to turn the contents of the room into silhouettes. The doll still stood on the dresser, looking like a solid shadow.  He picked it up and pulled the string.

“Mama.”

The voice broke the quiet night air. The surrounding silence made it sound much louder than it had before. He waited for any sounds that someone might be stirring. When he heard nothing, he placed the doll back on the dresser and crept back to his own room.

Ridiculous. Just ridiculous. _No more nightmares,_ he told himself. _No more getting worked up over a stupid toy._

[-]

 “Papa.”

He opened his eyes to the sound of crying. When he rolled over, the doll was standing on his dresser once again. Tears rolled down its face and splashed on its tiny shoes. 

“Where is my Papa?” it cried.

As its sobs echoed through the room, Ernesto closed his eyes and pretended not to hear it. Let it cry. It was a dream. It could cry all it wanted. It couldn’t hurt him and it would have to go away eventually.

“Do you know where to find him?”

Ernesto rolled over. Let its questions fall on deaf ears. It was nothing to him.

“I miss him. Don’t you?”

He felt his heart twist. “Shut up,” he snapped, still refusing to look at it.

The doll went silent. After a few minutes, he relaxed burrowed himself further into his pillow. There, easy enough.

“Papa has dirt on him.”

Ernesto’s eyes cracked open. The voice was closer. He slowly lifted his head to see the doll now standing at the foot of the bed. It began crawling toward him, it’s stiff limbs moving mechanically as it advanced. “We have to get him out.”

“I said shut up.” He snarled. The doll didn’t slow. He leaned away from it as it drew closer. His body froze as it latched onto his arm.

“He was hurt and scared.

An image flashed in his mind. A tall, thin man doubled over in pain. The man fell to his knees then dropped forward, not enough life left in him to even catch himself. Did he have time to be scared?

_It doesn’t matter now._

“Why didn’t you help him?” It cried, tears rolling off of it’s porcelain cheeks and soaking into his sleeve. “Why didn’t you let him come home?”

A shadow rose from behind the doll. He followed it with his eyes as it stretched up to the ceiling. Its lean profile was far too familiar. It hung above them, watching, waiting. 

The doll’s head slowly turned to see the shadow on the ceiling. “Papa?”

The shadow’s arms stretched wide. The hands touched the edges on the ceiling. They snaked down the walls and across the floor. The doll’s porcelain lips twisted upwards as the hands moved up the bed. They reached for him. He remained frozen, unable to even scream.

[-]

Ernesto woke with a start and jumped out of bed. He didn’t wait for his heartbeat to slow or wipe the sweat from his brow. It was stupid. It was just a toy and he was going to prove that to himself once and for all.

He stormed down to the guest room, caring nothing for if he was seen or heard. He threw open the door and found the doll smiling vaguely into the darkness. Damn thing. How dare it look so smug? He ripped it off of its place on the dresser and yanked at the string on the doll’s back.

“Papa.”

A pain went through his heart. This proves nothing. He remembered leaving it off on “mama” the night before. He pulled again.

“Papa.”

He drew in a sharp breath. _Unbelievable. No, the damn thing must be broken._ He gave the string another tug.

“Papa.”

His blood boiling, he pulled it again and again.

“Papa.”

“Papa.”

“Papa.”

_Crash!_

The doll’s head shattered on the floor scattering small shards of porcelain across the room. Ernesto seethed as he looked at the doll’s now-headless body. _Can’t mock me anymore. No more dreams. No more crying._ He thought of the shadow on the ceiling and felt a chill go down his spine. _No more of that either._

He heard the housekeeper come running down the hall and he quickly straightened himself out. By the time she appeared at the door, he’d replaced his gritted teeth with a calming smile and an apologetic face. “Yolanda, I’m so sorry I woke you. I couldn’t sleep so I started wandering and I’m afraid I accidently knocked the doll off the dresser.”

“Oh no, the poor thing,” Yolanda said as she surveyed the damage. She knelt down and began picking up some of the larger pieces of porcelain. “Don’t worry. I’ll get this cleaned up right away.”

“Nonsense, Yolanda,” Ernesto said as he gently guided her back to her feet. “It’s the middle of the night. Please go back to bed. This can wait until morning.”

 _Let the damn thing stay there on the cold, hard floor._ He wanted to leave it shattered, at least for one night. Remembering that it was lying broken a few rooms away might actually help him sleep.

“If you insist,” she answered with a yawn. “Good night, Ernesto.”

Ernesto said goodnight to her as well and turned back toward his bedroom.

“Such a shame,” he heard her say as she walked away. “It was such a lovely doll."


End file.
